


What's It Gonna Take?

by BlueColoredDreams



Series: Electric Indigo [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: AKA: the AU where Tsukishima gets a face full of piercings because Yamaguchi is the piercer, Blow Jobs, Future Fic, M/M, Overstimulation, Porn with a tiny hint of Plot, Prostate Milking, Tattoo/Piercing AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 15:36:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5791054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueColoredDreams/pseuds/BlueColoredDreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kei has a problem: said problem might have resulted in a tattoo, and an assorted number of piercings. </p><p>In which Tsukishima Kei contemplates getting his dick pierced in order to reconnect with his old childhood friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's It Gonna Take?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Thinkingthatifpeoplewererain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thinkingthatifpeoplewererain/gifts).



> Happy birthday to Mike! Who encourages me to sin far too often but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Title is from this [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KOxq8EOTPR4).

Kei has a problem. A big problem.

Said problem has landed him with more piercings than are socially acceptable in Japan, and a tattoo that bars him from public bath houses. But that's okay, he never liked communal bathing anyway, and he's lucky enough to have landed a job that doesn't give a shit about his appearance as long as his photos are spot on and his articles are witty.

It's still a problem though, he admits as he mixes up his saline solution for the day.

He's running out of piercings he actually wants, and he still hasn't spoken more than civil pleasantries with Tadashi. Even though it was Tadashi who pierced him. And tattooed him.

He's just too ashamed to. The words just sort of shrivel up and dry out in his mouth every time he makes eye contact with his old friend.

He doesn't even know if Tadashi knows it's him: the idea that Tadashi may not know makes his heart ache. But it would be his fault if it were true.

His stupid, cowardly, pathetic self’s fault. He had been the one to run away, after all. Maybe Tadashi knows it’s him, and isn’t saying anything out of spite. He’d deserve that, he thinks. No, he  _knows._

He still remembers the fear, cold and all-consuming, that gripped him late in their second year of high school. It came the day they filled out the first of their real future advisement forms.

Seeing it in black and white, that he and Tadashi had very different plans had been the catalyst. It was like a spotlight had been trained on Tadashi, and all Kei could see was how precious their time was, how important and integral Tadashi was to his life. He'd realized then that he loved Tadashi, more than friends or family.

He wanted to spend his entire life by Tadashi’s side. And it terrified him. 

So he ran away. He put more effort into school, volleyball, everything that wasn't Tadashi. Slowly, he drew back, heart aching all the while. More than anything, he'd wanted to work on their last assured year of friendship; to make it so it could be easier for them to weather being apart, to make it so that they'd continue to have bonds that time or distance couldn't break.

Maybe if he'd done that, they could have been more than friends. Or maybe they wouldn't be like they are now: Strangers.

Two professionals, one client and one customer. But he’d been so afraid, scared that he’d work at it and build something strong for it to end up only one-sided and weak. He was scared it would be his fault if it broke.

In the end, they graduated without really speaking to each other. He remembers Tadashi, tall and broad and shaggy-haired with a rueful smile on his face as they stood in the gymnasium after graduation.

“We never did hang out this year like we should have,” Tadashi said quietly. He reaches out and gently adjusts the ribbon on Kei’s uniform. “I wish we had.”

Shame had welled up in Kei’s throat, making it tight. He remembers thinking that it was their last chance to make something real. “It was busier than I expected,” he said instead.

Disappointment flickered on Tadashi’s face; Kei wasn't sure—still isn't sure—if the other man had wanted an apology or maybe acknowledgement that the wish was shared.

“Congrats on landing an overseas scholarship,” Tadashi said instead.

“Thanks.”

And like that, they parted. Tadashi had hugged him tightly and asked him to keep in touch, at least.

Kei promised he would.

He didn't. He let Tadashi slip through his fingers, eight years of solid friendship left to waste in the light of one realization. He was too ashamed to admit that he'd been terrified, too guilty about the breadth of his feelings and the nights that his thoughts of Tadashi veered on obscene. Too scared of the ache in his chest and the chance of loneliness and ruination. The selfish thought that if they were to have an end, Kei wanted it on his own terms.

He’d thought that he’d never see Tadashi again; they both moved from their childhood homes soon after graduation, and for all the smallness of their home town, Japan was large.

But six months previously, they’d met again. Six months, eight piercings, a tattoo, and a music article about a certain indie singer’s path of embracing counterculture ago, to be precise.

If the usual photographer hadn't gotten sick, if the musician they were doing an article on hadn't wanted a piercing… Kei probably wouldn't have been reunited with Tadashi.

Well, reunited was a very liberal term. They hadn't really spoken the day Kei and the writer had trudged into the little chrome-fixtured shop after their featured artist of the month. That day, he hadn't been able to speak with the shop’s youngest employee, so he went back as a customer, made an appointment, and got the first in a long line of piercings from Tadashi.

Kei sighs through his nose, pouring a bit of the warm saline mixture onto a cotton pad, pressing the soaking fabric to the shell of his ear.

First the tattoo. Then  one lobe. He’d tried to say something to Tadashi that wasn't small talk, but all he'd managed were quiet answers in the face of Tadashi’s warm, but entirely professional, inquiries.

Then another piercing. Tadashi had teased him for coming back. Another. They talked about how people reacted to piercings on the street. Again. Tips for keeping up care for all of them, more teasing. All professional. Nothing that identified Kei as someone other than a customer.

Kei doesn't think that Tadashi even recognizes him. He tosses the cotton pad in the trash and carefully removes his shirt; the piercings on his nipples are well past healed, but he still treats them gingerly.

Those had been even more impulsive than the rest; he’d asked after them when he'd run out of places on his face that he could stand pierced. Through the procedure Tadashi’s hands had been feather-light and cool from rubbing alcohol drying on latex.

If it weren't bright in the shop, and there wasn't a piercing needle flashing in Tadashi’s blue-gloved fingers, Kei could have pretended it was intimate. The same with the belly piercing, the newest of the bunch, still hidden behind cotton padding to keep it from being rubbed on or caught by the buttons of his jeans.

The touch still lingers, just like the firm pressure of Tadashi’s hands pressing on the transfer stencil to the lower curve of Kei’s stomach where the line of his tattoo rests. He'd shook then, when Tadashi pressed his fingers to his skin. 

He still can't believe that one, either. There had been something so intense about Tadashi’s pursed lips and pulled back topknot when Kei had photographed him working the day of the interview, that he'd been drawn into it without a thought. The second his shutter closed was the second he decided he wanted one; it had taken a while to decide where and what, but his heart had been set.

Just like his heart is still stubbornly set on Tadashi, the man he'd ran away from six years before.

He checks each stud carefully to make sure they’re threaded correctly, especially the small silver bar in the still-tender navel piercing. Tadashi had warned him that those sorts were finicky, and he desperately doesn’t want to let Tadashi down by having a piercing get rejected, even though those sort of things happen frequently enough to warn customers about.

He pulls his shirt back on and seals the saline mix up in a glass jar, brushes his teeth, and finishes getting dressed. He has another appointment.

He knows it's Tadashi’s last appointment for the day. His stomach churns anxiously for what he's going to request, knowing that if he commits, this would be the last time he could visit Tadashi’s shop.

Not just because it’s the last place he can think of to get pierced, but also because if he gets it done, it’s going to kick his pride out the window. And down the street. And out of the country. He’d never be able to face Tadashi again.

He hopes he can manage to talk to Tadashi before he has to commit; he doesn't really want a piercings there unless he has a partner who he knows likes it.

He knows Tadashi likes them, though. He overheard Tadashi and another piercer chat about genital piercings before, remembers the hot, guilty churn of jealousy in his gut when he heard Tadashi talk about getting laid by someone with one.

But that's his mind getting away from him: he's only doing this to apologize. He's only doing it so he can have a chance to be friends again.

He’d settle for acquaintances, really.

Actually, really, he’d probably just settle for apologizing to Tadashi for just dropping him like that. While he’s never exactly been a… nice person, he at least knows that what he did was wrong, and probably hurt Tadashi.

He grabs his wallet and his keys and hails a cab to the little downtown shop. Truth be told, if Kei hadn’t gone there for work, he never would have found what he suspects is Tokyo’s only legal, mainstream-oriented, tattoo and piercing parlor.

It’s an old flat that’s only accessible through the internet café below it, or via a rickety, rusty set of stairs that Kei thinks is actually the fire escape. It’s this route he takes.

He pushes through the door into the shop; industrial pipes line the ceiling—the owner had said in the interview, as Kei laid on his back to make the shot, that they’d taken the original ceiling out when they’d knocked the walls down. Everything was polished and clean, just like it’s been the last handful of times Kei’s been; the reception table is empty, and the usual computer that the appointment times are checked is dark.

“Oh! Hey, there you are,” Tadashi says, emerging from the back half of the shop, where the original apartment’s rooms were left intact for privacy, storage, and employee break rooms. It’s just as chrome and shiny and modern in them as it is in the front. It had been hard to get the light right in his camera.

Tadashi’s just as tall and handsome and assured as he was the first time Kei strolled into the shop. Kei still has yet to understand how _his_ Tadashi transformed into the broad-shouldered, skinny-jean-clad, pierced and undercut man in front of him. He isn’t complaining though. Not at all.

He just really, really, really wants to get in those skinny jeans. Or maybe he just wants to be in a position where it’s plausible that he could get into them.

“Slow day?” Kei asks, feeling a bit awkward. It’s never been just the two of them before. The knowledge of who’s before him, who’s going to touch him makes him uncomfortable. He read that it’s not uncommon for men to get an erection during the process—the idea makes him cringe with embarrassment and makes him want to jump out of the window.

Why was he doing this again? Oh, that’s right, because he’s pathetic.

“Well, you’re the last of the day, so I sent Mitsuki-chan home, since you booked for a private piercing anyway,” Tadashi says, starting up the sink. “Come and make yourself comfortable.”

Kei hesitates. “About that,” he says slowly.

“Don’t worry, it doesn’t hurt nearly as much as it looks like it will,” Tadashi laughs, pumping soap into his hands.

Kei watches Tadashi scrub his hands in silence. He feels like the shiny tiled floors are shifting under him. Hopeless. He’s hopeless. “Is that so…”

“Sit, sit,” Tadashi instructs, pulling gloves on over his hands. “It’s really straightforward. The worst part is waiting for it to heal up all the way. Don’t be concerned if it bleeds, that’s really normal.”

Kei makes a noise in the back of his throat, watching as Tadashi kneels in front of his cabinet. The action makes the V of his shirt gape, and Kei sees, for the first time, a delicate tracing of lines on his chest.

It’s a tattoo. A constellation. It takes a second for it to register, but it’s definitely Libra.

Tadashi is a Scorpio.

It’s over his heart.

Kei’s a Libra.

He thinks about Tadashi’s sad eyes and the wistfulness in his tone at graduation. The way their hands used to brush and Tadashi used to jostle up close. The text messages he got that slowly dwindled the longer he left them unread.

“I don’t… I don’t want it pierced,” Kei says suddenly. Tadashi looks up, wide-eyed and blinking. “I came… I came to see you. I wanted… Tadashi, do you remember me at all?” he pleads, voice hoarse.

Tadashi stands, face neutral. He leans back on the counter, crossing his legs in front of him nonchalantly. “Of course I do, you came to do the interview with that indie singer—ah, what was his name?”

“No,” Kei says. He clenches his fingers together, and tries again: “Tadashi, do you remember me from before that?”

Tadashi sighs and rakes a hand through his hair, loosening it a bit from its topknot. “God, yes, I know who you are, Kei. Tsukki. As if I didn’t know it was you the second you walked in with your camera and that editor.”

Air escapes his lungs in a sudden burst. Kei doesn’t know when he’d started holding it, only that it’s made him light headed, and that the knowledge that Tadashi knows him is sweet like water after a long run, but just as likely to make him sick. “You didn’t say anything.”

“Neither did you,” Tadashi points out quietly.

“I… almost… wasn’t certain it was you,” Kei says.

“I knew.”

“I knew after I saw you work,” Kei replies. He doesn’t clarify that it was the way that Tadashi pursed his lips, the way he tucked his hair behind his ear before he pulled on gloves, the quiet off-tune hum as he sanitized his table that brought it home.

They fall silent for a long moment. Kei clears his throat. “You changed.”

“Of course I did,” Tadashi says. A smirk tugs at his lips. “And did you. The Kei I knew would have never dreamed of some of those piercings you have. Or a tattoo!”

The way Tadashi says his name makes Kei giddy; he can’t help but grin back at Tadashi. “I got the tattoo because I wanted to come back,” he admits. “And then I wanted to talk to you, so I got the first piercing.”

“And you didn’t, so you came back again,” Tadashi laughs. “That’s so…”

“Pathetic,” Kei finishes, “But then, I started to like it. The piercings, the process, the look… I liked it.”

“Yeah,” Tadashi agrees. “There’s a rush afterwards.”

“Well,” Kei says slowly, “Yes. It also hurts. Even afterwards.”

Tadashi blinks, then smirks, his cheeks pink. “Kinky,” he laughs.

Kei shrugs a little, feeling awkward. “Hey,” he says after a moment, “I wanted to… I’ve always wanted to apologize for… being distant our third year. And not keeping in touch. I’ve always… regretted it.”

Tadashi shifts, arms tight against his chest. He frowns and looks away from Kei, who’s just as gorgeous as he ever was (in Tadashi’s opinion—he may, in fact, have always been biased, but it’s little matter) and looking like a puppy that got caught peeing in their owner’s slippers. “You could have sent that over a message on Facebook, you know,” he says coldly.

He’s trying hard not to be flattered that Kei’s come to see him, gotten pierced by him, tattooed by him, again and again, just so he could get a chance to say it. He’s flattered and it hurts. He’s gotten his hopes up every time Kei wanders through the shop door, waiting for Kei to recognize him, basking in the way Kei flushes when they touch and how Kei’s gaze lingers on him with an edge of hunger.

It would be a lie if he said he hadn’t fantasized about them going to bed; that Kei asks him out for dinner, recognizes him, and confesses his undying love. It’s stupid. And now that part of it is happening, it hurts.

“What?” Kei blinks, looking baffled. “No, this… I wanted to say it in person, because it would mean I would get to see you.”

“After it wasn’t important to see me in high school?” Tadashi asks. “You could just… let it lie.”

Kei squirms in his seat, swallowing hard. “Yamaguchi, I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry I did that. But… I was scared. I could only see two futures for us—one where I was by your side forever, but you went on, got married, and I had to be there for it all or one where we may have dated for a bit, but it never worked out… either way, I lost you.”

“You never saw anything else?” Tadashi asks. “You never thought we could make it work?”

“I said I was scared, not smart,” Kei retorts, flush high on his cheeks.

Tadashi bites back the urge to agree, that he thinks Kei’s a gigantic ass, and a dumb one at that.  He rolls his eyes. “So what now? Since you’ve apologized?”

“I…. was hoping that maybe, we could catch up over dinner,” Kei offers. “And decide from there. I’d like… for there to be more than just one dinner.”

Tadashi lets his shoulders slump and he sighs softly. He’s not sure if this is a good thing, or a terrible one. He starts to pull off his gloves, looking at Kei. “You sure you don’t want me to do your dick instead?” he asks, snapping the latex against his wrist.

Tadashi actually thinks it might be easier—albeit a bit vengeful—to approach Kei’s dick with sharp instruments than stumble through awkward small talk when really all he wants to do is wrap his arms around Kei. Maybe his legs too, if he hasn’t misinterpreted the way Kei looks at him sometimes.

Kei’s cheeks darken even further, lips twitching into a pinched frown as he turns his head away. “No,” he says primly. “I’d rather not.”

Tadashi laughs, rolling the gloves the rest of the way off and tossing them in a nearby trashcan. “That’s a shame, I wanted to touch your dick,” he chuckles teasingly, leering.

Kei turns and looks at him, raising an eyebrow. He can’t believe the words coming out of Tadashi’s mouth; he’s not sure if Tadashi’s flirting or if he’s mercilessly teasing him. He reaches up and pushes his glasses up his nose with a controlled movement, clicking his tongue.

“If you’re patient, maybe you can anyway,” he mutters, picking himself up out of the chair.

“Nice, Tsukki,” Tadashi snickers. “Your neck is bright red.”

“Shut up,” Kei says, without much heat. He brings a hand up to rub at his burning neck, feeling a bit sheepish.

“Just let me lock up, okay?” Tadashi asks, as if their conversation hadn’t taken place. He steps close to Kei, nudging their shoulders together. “Then we can have dinner.”

Kei nods, swallowing hard as Tadashi’s face enters his field of vision. Tadashi claps him on the back and beams.

“Good! The café below us is actually shockingly good, if you don’t mind?”

“No, that’s fine,” Kei answers, nodding again. “Convenient.”

“Close to home,” Tadashi says, smirking as he brushes past Kei to log into the reception computer.

Kei shifts awkwardly from foot to foot, wondering if Tadashi means that in the fact that the café is close to work, or if Tadashi actually lives nearby.

It would make sense if he did, Kei supposes; there’s not much in the way of parking, and it might be convenient to simply walk. His musing is cut off by the sudden absence of artificial light, evening sunlight barely penetrating the shop.

“Well, come on, silly,” Tadashi beckons, holding the outside door open. “Don’t stand around and gape.”

“When did you get pushy?” Kei complains.

“When you live with Tanaka and Noya throughout college, you learn how to put your foot down,” Tadashi snickers. “Self-preservation.”

Kei steps out onto the rickety metal platform, watching as Tadashi sways from foot to foot as he does up each lock on the shop door. “Ah? I didn’t realize you lived with them. Are they who got you into this?”

“I live alone now,” Tadashi clarifies, “And as for this… Well, Saeko-neechan is friends with the owner of the place, and you know how friends of friends go,” he says vaguely.

They start down the stairs, feet loud on metal railings. Kei trails behind Tadashi, watching as the other man turns to one side to remain in eye-contact. “I’d already gotten one piercing—did it on my own, you know, and I needed a part time job—”

“Piercing?” Kei asks, a bit surprised.

Tadashi shakes his head, laughing. “No, I did reception work,” he admits. He holds the door to the café open for Kei, a back entrance that opens closer to the kitchen and the bathroom than to the front counter. “Logging appointments and book keeping—I went to business school, after all.”

“Ah, did you?”

“Oh, that’s right, you were playing that distant card when I got accepted,” Tadashi comments.

He doesn’t say it as anything other than a vague fact, but it sends a pang through Kei’s stomach. He reaches out and gently brushes his fingers against Tadashi’s wrist, not quite holding him. “Hey, I… I…”

Tadashi tips his head and studies Kei’s face. “Kei, it’s okay,” he says. “It happened. There’s nothing that changes that. This is just us catching up.”

“…I know, I just…”

“I messed up too, back then, by letting you,” Tadashi says softly. “I knew what was going on, but I still let you. So, it’s okay. Now, come on, let me buy you cake.”

“Wait, I’m the one who asked you to dinner,” Kei protests, but Tadashi’s already pulled away.

They get their food without incident and only a minor scrabble over payment—they split—and continue their conversation over plastic containers of cake and sandwiches.

“In any case, I still do a fair bit of the book keeping,” Tadashi continues where he left off; “But I also took safety classes and trained to pierce and tattoo. I saw the owner work, and got a few more piercings, and I love it. The people who come through, the stories behind why they want them, overcoming expectations. We get a lot of shit, but I like it.”

“That’s good that you like it and you love your job,” Kei replies, “It’s rare to find something like that, I think.”

“Well, what about you, Mister ‘I’m going to med school’ who shows up at a tattoo parlor as a photographer?” Tadashi asks, making a sweeping gesture with a plastic spoon that flicks a bit of mayonnaise at Kei.

Kei rolls his eyes and flicks the glob back at Tadashi with his nails. “I didn’t like it. I liked photography. The end.”

“That story leaves a lot to be desired,” Tadashi grumbles, sponging off mayo with his napkin.

“Not really,” Kei sighs. “I just, I went overseas and I didn’t have anyone to talk to, even though the program had lots of exchange students from Japan. I missed home, I missed my family, and I missed you. There were a lot of expectations, not just academic hoops to jump through. I just… I always felt like I wouldn’t be enough, even if I managed the jump.”

Tadashi frowns and puts down his spoon. “And photography?”

“I took it as an elective. There’s no… there _are_ guidelines, you know, for learning, but ultimately, there’s nothing that really dictates perfection,” Kei answers. “I had a lot of freedom that I didn’t know I was lacking. It’s easier, you know, to interact with people through the camera, than face to face.”

“So you like it?” Tadashi asks, voice laden with concern. He reaches out and gently touches Kei’s knuckles before drawing away. “You’re happy?”

“I’m quite content, yes,” Kei answers, giving Tadashi a soft smile. “Sometimes I hate having to sit behind a computer and retouch models and sometimes I hate my subject matters, but… I like composing stories, visual stories, for people. Capturing the things I can’t say. Writing for the magazine is the same, more or less. …I can’t say I hate it, especially after it gave me another chance to see you.”

“You could have looked me up online,” Tadashi urges, finding his throat tight and face warm. “You stupid sap.”

Kei laughs and shakes his head, “How many piercings did it take for me to talk to you?”

“Too many, and a tattoo,” Tadashi retorts, “And an aborted Prince Albert.”

“Thank god I didn’t get that one,” Kei laughs, entire face alight with amusement.

Tadashi’s breath catches and his heart seizes and aches.

If he’s a fool for wanting Kei again, then that’s just his lot. He wants this man, who’s maybe still a coward seeped in the desperation to be perfect, but they’re adults now and maybe it’ll hurt to do what he wants, but he wants it at least once.

He wants to take Kei home with him, to bed because he’s laughing so hard he has to lean over to sip his drink with studs glittering up and down his ears and one glistening on his brow, and he’s perfect in his stupid hipster teeshirt and jeans, flannel tight around his waist.

If this is a second chance, then he’d be stupid not to take it, he decides.

“You know,” Tadashi leads slowly, catching Kei’s attention. “What we hear from people who get that one done?”

“No? What?”

“Some people get them because they have issues keeping their partners pleased,” Tadashi says. He smirks, deliberately riling Kei up. “Do you have that problem, Tsukki?”

Kei feels himself flush as he coughs on his drink. “No!”

“Sure,” Tadashi snickers.

“I don't! Why don’t I show you I don’t?”

Tadashi tips his head, smirk predatory, “You should.” He reaches out and takes Kei’s hand in his own, tracing a finger against the center of Kei’s palm, and down his wrist, tapping him softly against his pulse point. “Or… maybe I should show you the wonders of having that pierced?”

Kei’s hand trembles in his own, face red. Tadashi hopes Kei’s heart is racing just as much as his is. He hopes he hasn’t messed this up already, because he wants it to work.

“…you should,” Kei says quietly.

Tadashi’s stomach flips suddenly, the idea of sex with Kei making his mouth go dry and his neck hot. He clenches his fingers around Kei’s, standing from the table. “Then let’s go.”

Kei nods, heart pounding. This is even more unbelievable than the piercings, than the tattoos, than finding Tadashi at the tattoo parlor. But he follows behind Tadashi all the same, out and along the sidewalk and through the late-afternoon throng, hands wound tight together.

Tadashi leads him to a small apartment complex, white painted and tidy with cute little ledges for window boxes and inset doors that residents have taken to setting potted plants in. It’s chic and homely all at once. Tadashi stops in front of a door with a little red lacquer box of cacti on his ledge, and a little welcome mat shaped like a cat.

The juxtaposition of the two things to Tadashi’s tall, pierced and tattooed image makes Kei’s heart skip in the most embarrassing way. This is the Tadashi he knew all those years ago, the soft-hearted dork of a boy who memorized game stats and sang along to anime theme songs.

It eases the anxiety in his stomach to see that Tadashi, despite being pierced and scruffy looking, still has some of the boy Kei loved in him.

Tadashi's apartment is small and cluttered and cozy. It smells like cinnamon and vanilla and he almost trips over a coat as he's led inside.

It's so quintessentially Tadashi that his heart aches. Plants and stars and knickknacks and manga and rope lights and unmade beds. Some of the things he knows are from Tadashi's childhood bedroom-- the family picture on the desk in the corner, the dog eared and faded copies of Harry Potter and Dragonball.

Other things are new and none of it matters when Tadashi pushes him up against the wall and kisses him hard.

Kei lets his head knock back and Tadashi steps forward to brace Kei against the wall, chests pressing together. Kei tips his head to the side, relieving some of the pressure on his glasses; their lips slot into an easier position, Tadashi's mouth parting to suck on Kei's lower lip.

They're kissing and maybe Kei should be concerned that they're essentially still strangers, but the tension, the attraction, is still there despite this.

He reaches out and rubs his fingers over the soft bristle of shaved hair on the back of Tadashi's scalp, cradling the man's head between his fingers, urging him to continue kissing.

Tadashi's lips quirk against Kei's, tongue darting out to run against the seam of Kei's mouth. Kei opens his mouth and Tadashi deepens their kiss, the ball of his piercing clicking softly against the edges of Kei's teeth. Kei doesn't find it unpleasant, but he tips his head back a little, letting Tadashi lean up into him, bodies now flush from the chest down.

Tadashi's hands find Kei's sides; he drags them down and deftly undoes the knotted flannel shirt around Kei’s waist. The action elicits a quiver and a noise of surprise from Kei.

Tadashi pulls away, raking his fingers up and down Kei's sides. "That's right, you were... Sensitive here," he huffs, laughter quiet in his voice. “You squirmed during the stencil transfer.”

The actions make Kei fidget, something shivering and hot pooling in his stomach. He wants to flinch away from blunt fingernails through clothes but he also wants more, for Tadashi to claw him open and devour him. He simply catches Tadashi's mouth with his own and digs his nails into soft hair.

Tadashi drags his hands down and grabs Kei's hips, pulling him forward against his pelvis; his hands slide around and behind. Kei is embarrassed, almost, at the noise he makes as Tadashi's fingers close around his ass and pushes against him.

The friction of Tadashi kneading and spreading him through his jeans is so good, as is the warm metal against his palette as their tongues rub against each other, their kiss wet and loud and frantic. Tadashi pushes against him again, standing up on his toes to make them level again, chest sliding against Kei's. His own piercings catch against his clothes, and he can feel his nipples start to pebble and tingle with arousal.

He'd be ashamed to feel his dick twitch and stiffen so soon if it weren't for the fact he could feel Tadashi's do the same against his thigh.

Tadashi slides one hand from Kei's ass down his thigh, lifting up. Kei takes the cue and lifts his knee, hooking his calf against the back of Tadashi's thigh. Tadashi presses closer to balance Kei, squeezing his hand.

He takes his other hand and rakes his nails against Kei's side. Kei gives a gasp and chokes into Tadashi's mouth.

Tadashi circles his hips against Kei's pulling back from their kiss with Kei's lower lip between his teeth. 

Kei presses his head against the wall, panting as Tadashi kisses his jaw, his tongue hot against his skin. The warm metal of Tadashi's piercing traces the dip of skin between his jaw and ear, then against the rim of cartilage. 

He moans as Tadashi catches a piercing with his teeth and tugs, eliciting a jolt of pain that goes right to his groin. He squeezes Tadashi's hip with his thigh, the small of his back lifting off of the wall. "Y-Yamaguchi," he breathes. His fingers tug at Tadashi's hair and it spills from its bun around his fingers, soft and dark and unruly. 

Tadashi ruts up against him, fingers biting through jeans and teeth sharp on Kei's neck. And then, suddenly, he takes a step back, tongue tracing his lips in a predatory manner.

He watches Kei tremble, slouch against the wall as his chest heaves, lips red and ears pink, nipples hard and visible against the white of his shirt, pants straining at the crotch.

He reaches out and circles a finger against Kei's nipple, toying with the stud through the shirt.

The effect is immediate, and satisfying. Kei's eyes roll back and his cheeks flush as those pretty pink lips part. Tadashi leans forward and presses a soft kiss to the other nipple, fingers pinching the other.

He knows Kei likes the pain of it; he's careful, though, not to tug too hard as he mouths at Kei through thin cotton, soaking the material with his spit. He pulls away and blows, pleased with the jolt and gasp that follows. Pink flesh is barely visible and Tadashi wants it.

He pinches his fingers, then rolls his thumb around the over-sensitive nub of flesh. He almost asks Kei if he can take his shirt off, but one glance up at Kei’s flushed face decides it for Tadashi.

He curls his fingers into the hem of Kei’s shirt and tugs up without warning or ceremony. Kei pulls his hands away from Tadashi’s hair, holding them up over his head; Tadashi tosses it aside, pressing a kiss to Kei’s forehead, snickering as Kei reaches up to right his glasses.

Tadashi kisses down the side of Kei’s cheek, down his jaw to his neck, then down to the jut of Kei’s clavicle. The skin is soft and flushed pink; Kei turns color so easily that it makes Tadashi’s mouth water. He bites down hard, the vibrations of Kei’s whine against his forehead.

He wants to mark him up, see how long it takes Kei to bruise. He drags his nails hard against Kei’s sides, raking flush lines over his ribs down to the peak of Kei’s pelvis, right over his jeans.

Tadashi drops to his knees, resting his chin against Kei’s stomach. It quivers under him as Kei sucks in a breath. “How’s this healing up?” he asks, tapping the patch of gauze taped over Kei’s navel.

“Well,” Kei breathes out. He can’t stop his voice from shaking, especially as Tadashi turns his head and nuzzles his skin with his cheek. He reaches out and cards his fingers through dark hair, knees weak as Tadashi starts kissing his stomach, nipping at him and sucking, fingers playing with his belt loops.

“You taking care of it like I told you?”

“When have I failed—mmnh—to keep up the care,” Kei gasps. He presses his shoulders back against the wall, breath coming harshly as Tadashi drops his fingers and traces the outline of his erection.

“That’s true,” Tadashi murmurs, cupping Kei in his fingers. Kei’s grip on his hair tightens, and Tadashi rewards him with a quiet moan as he undoes Kei’s jeans and tugs them down.

Tadashi lets them fall around Kei’s ankles, fingers inching down the elastic of Kei’s boxers—he’s pleased to notice a damp spot in the center, the sight warming the heat of arousal in his own stomach—until the line of Kei’s tattoo appears, dark and even against the lowermost curve of his stomach.

“I was so surprised when you came back for this,” Tadashi groans, nuzzling the line of it, running his tongue against the quivering skin. “My hands were shaking the entire time; I could only think about how much I wanted to touch you like this.”

“U…unprofessional,” Kei groans.

Tadashi laughs, kissing Kei’s stomach and nuzzling the down of pubic hair his fingers had just uncovered.

“Yamaguchi,” Kei whines as Tadashi’s hands stop inching his underwear down and go around to his ass, squeezing and spreading the flesh there. “Yamaguchi…”

Tadashi presses Kei against his face, mouth tracing the outline of Kei’s twitching dick through soaked cotton. “What do you want?” he murmurs, letting his tongue press against the wet stain of precum, tasting salt and sweat and sex. He pushes his piercing over it, right against Kei’s head and slips a finger between Kei’s cheeks, pressing through fabric against the blond’s hole.

Kei’s hips twitch forcefully against his hips, and Tadashi presses harder with his tongue and finger, saliva coating his lips.

“It’s not obvious?” Kei whines. He grips Tadashi’s hair tighter, arms and thighs tense. He moans and slides down the wall a bit as Tadashi rubs his finger, massaging his hole. He wants to be in Tadashi’s mouth, fuck into him, have Tadashi’s fingers spreading him open and wide. He wants Tadashi to slam him down and hold him and rough him up and fill him. He wants to be marked and kept close and for this to be more than a breaking of tension between them.

“Plenty,” Tadashi laughs. He moves quickly, tugging Kei’s boxers down. His mouth is on Kei before the other man has even sprung free of his underwear, dick hot and twitching in his mouth. His hands find flesh, spreading Kei open and nails digging at soft flesh to hold Kei steady.

Kei tips his head back, eyes clenching shut as the ball of Tadashi’s piercing traces over his head, then down his shaft. His entire body twitches and shakes, pants and moans escaping his mouth with increasing frequency as Tadashi hollows his cheeks and sucks.

Kei is hot and heavy on his tongue and Tadashi would be fine letting Kei fuck into his mouth until he came, but he can tell by the way Kei’s thighs shake and clench against his shoulders that Kei won’t be able to stand for much longer. In fact, even though he’s holding Kei up and to his mouth, Kei’s still inching down the wall, knees bent.

He presses his fingers to the pucker of skin between Kei’s cheeks, rubbing his fingers dry against it. Kei’s knees buckle and Tadashi manages to wedge his shoulders underneath Kei’s knee, lending him a bit of stability. He pulls from Kei’s dick, giving the leaking head a sharp suck to milk the dribble of precum from it, swiping the ball of his stud right over his slit one last time. “You like that?” he asks, voice rough.

Kei whines and jolts as Tadashi’s finger breeches his hole dry, rough and hot and on the border of uncomfortable. “Please—Tadashi—”

Tadashi sucks in a breath, feeling like he’d been punched. Desire makes him dizzy, and he pulls his hands from Kei quickly.

 Kei makes a sad sound and opens his eyes, face dark. “S…sorry,” he gasps, looking bereft. He didn’t mean to offend Tadashi, he just wanted more. “I didn’t—”

Tadashi stands and grabs Kei by the wrists, walking backwards towards his unmade bed. He tugs Kei close, then grabs his shoulders. Their mouths meet roughly, a clash of teeth and a bump of noses and knocked-awry glasses.

Kei grabs Tadashi’s waist, mouth opening eagerly against Tadashi’s, kiss morphing from lips to all tongue, Tadashi’s mouth salty and bitter. Tadashi turns them and pushes Kei down onto the bed.

Kei lets himself fall into the sheets, panting. Tadashi’s gaze is predatory and hungry and Kei arches, spreading his legs open and bracing his feet flat on the sheets. He watches the bob of Tadashi’s throat as he swallows hard.

Tadashi reaches down and fumbles with his jeans, pushing them down and hissing as his dick springs free. He can’t even be bothered to get them down all the way once they get tangled at his knees.

Kei’s eyes focus on Tadashi’s body as Tadashi strips his shirt off. Long and lean and covered with freckles and dark, thick hair on his lower belly. He traces the delicate lines of constellations marked onto his stomach to the bright flash of a navel piercing, to Tadashi’s erection where a large silver stud glimmers at the tip of his penis.

Kei swallows and shudders with want as he watches Tadashi lean to the side and grab a pillow. “For your hips,” Tadashi murmurs hoarsely, before reaching to his bedside table, opening up a small drawer.

Kei lifts his hips and shoves the pillow underneath himself, feeling even more exposed and needy with his back firmly in the sheets and hips lifted. He peers around his knees and watches at Tadashi rolls a condom on and strokes himself before lowering onto all fours over Kei.

Kei kisses Tadashi hungrily, arranging his knees over the crook of Tadashi’s elbows, letting the other man’s body press and push him open. Tadashi’s hands stroke his stomach, his sides, the tops of his thighs before sliding those rough hands to the inside of his legs, spreading his cheeks.

Kei gasps and moans as fingers massage him open and rub at the outside of his hole until he’s soft and pliant and shivering for more. Tadashi withdraws his fingers, mouth latching onto Kei’s neck, sucking a mark there that’s surely going to bruise dark and large.

Kei closes his eyes and feels his erection throb and leak as he hears the bottle of lube click open, then shut. He arches his hips up and crosses his ankles against Tadashi’s shoulders, willing himself not to clench in anticipation.

Tadashi’s fingers return, cool and slippery, massaging slow circles against his rim.

“Just shove it in,” Kei mutters, attempting to sound nonchalant. The whine and crack in his voice gives away his desperation, and when Tadashi obeys him with a chuckle, his body tightens and Kei can’t help but clench his muscles in an attempt to draw his finger in more.

Tadashi crooks his finger and rubs at tight muscles, laughing. “So needy,” he teases, nipping at Kei. He wedges another finger in without preamble, and the action draws curled toes and a cry from Kei, whose eyes are rimmed with desperate, unshed tears.

Tadashi is careful to take his time now, feeling the wet slide of precum start to dot his stomach where his skin brushes Kei’s dick. He doesn’t intend to be slow or gentle when he fucks Kei, so he pays careful attention to stretching and loosening Kei up.

Kei grinds into Tadashi’s fingers, voice rough and loud as Tadashi starts a deep rhythm inside of him with crooked and circling fingers. He arches up and digs his nails into Tadashi’s shoulders, panting and giving short, jerky moans every time Tadashi’s probing fingers hit his prostate.

Tadashi presses down hard on the spot and doesn’t move his fingers other than a slow, rhythmic push down, watching Kei writhe and struggle, mouth open wide and voice sweet with pleasure. He flattens his body against Kei, still milking him as Kei thrusts up against him. He wonders if he can make Kei come just from this, the minimal friction on his dick and harsh press of fingers on his prostate.

Kei’s fingers claw at him, and Tadashi thinks the babbling moans of his name mixed with pleas is the sweetest sound he’s ever heard.

“T—T--Dashi, Dashi, please,” Kei cries, “Please, I—it’s too much, I’ll—”

Tadashi growls, low in his chest and jerks his wrist in an upward flick, both fingers finding the spot, hot and slippery inside of Kei. “Then do it,” he groans, “Do it. Come, Kei, come on.”

Kei’s body tightens and his voice goes high and spills between them, semen so hot on Tadashi’s stomach that he feels like it must be boiling. Sweat beads against Tadashi’s burning neck and his erection throbs. He pushes again, thrusting his fingers against the spot even as Kei’s body softens around him.

Underneath him, Kei shakes and grips on Tadashi, glasses fogged and mouth open and wet.

But they’re not done.

Tadashi squares his knees and lowers his hips, guiding his dick to Kei’s hole as he draws his fingers out. He pushes in around his fingers, Kei’s body quivering around him.

Kei hiccups on a moan, nails digging into Tadashi’s skin.  His body is a live wire, thrumming with Tadashi’s touch and the slow push of Tadashi inside of him. He feels raw and open and it’s almost painful, the way the stud on the head of Tadashi’s cock catches and rubs against him as Tadashi gives a shallow thrust.

“I’ve got you, shh,” Tadashi coos, sticky fingers rubbing Kei’s hips softly. “You feel so good, letting me take care of you like this.”

Kei moans as Tadashi presses into him fully, hips resting flush against his ass. Tadashi’s hands are warm on his pelvis and his breath uneven on Kei’s neck as he falls still. Kei turns his head to bury his nose into Tadashi’s hair, “Just—move, please,” he groans. It’s too much to be full of Tadashi without the friction, it steals his breath and makes him shake and all too aware of the sore ache of being stretched full.

The tenderness of it, too, is too much. It’s too much for Tadashi to be waiting on him, soothing him; it makes his chest ache and his mind race. It’s easier to lose himself, lose the implications, when Tadashi is moving. When Tadashi’s fucking him raw. He needs that, not the soft gentle tracings of fingers against his sides and quiet praise.

Tadashi nods against his neck, voice rough, “It’s not going to take much,” he warns.

Kei kisses his scalp softly, “Then be as rough as you want.”

“That’s a little dangerous,” Tadashi moans, trembling at the invitation. His fingers tighten and his hips jerk. “I want to wreck you—”

“Then do it, Tadashi,” Kei challenges. He raises his hips to Tadashi and grinds up into him, clenching his stomach. His thighs shake as he clasps around Tadashi, body burning with exhaustion.

Tadashi groans and moves Kei’s hips with his hands, pushing him down into the pillow beneath as he draws his pelvis back. He slams back in, grinds, then repeats the motion, setting a rough, harsh pace that makes the bed jump and slaps their skin together each time.

Tears leak from Kei’s eyes as pleasure eats at his vision, too much for his spent and sensitive body. The noises that fall from his mouth are embarrassingly lewd and _loud_. It’s so loud. But he can’t quiet himself, especially when Tadashi’s tip presses him right against his sensitive prostate, piercing rubbing into it with every grind.

Tadashi’s fingers slip from his hips, nails biting into skin as they skid off. Tadashi doesn’t bother to replace them, simply fists the sheets as he snaps his hips forward, hard enough to push Kei off of the pillow beneath him. Tadashi follows after him, removing one hand from the sheets to wedge underneath Kei, choking on a moan as he clutches the blond close, hips circling as he orgasms.

Tadashi’s body falls against Kei’s, heavy and limp as he whimpers and shudders through it, Kei’s hands petting his back. He feels suddenly cold with sweat. “Tsukki, Tsukki, _Kei_ ,” he whispers urgently. “Kei, Kei, Kei.”

Kei nuzzles against Tadashi with renewed vigor, squeezing his exhausted limbs around Tadashi’s quivering form. He can already feel the ache in his back and stomach, flaring up every time he breathes. It’s been a long, long time since he was this well fucked, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He gently guides them onto their sides, nudging Tadashi’s red-cheeked and sweaty face up with his shoulder. He kisses Tadashi softly, pressing their foreheads together after they part, “Tadashi,” he murmurs back, voice hoarse and his breath still embarrassingly uneven.

Kei nestles his sore, spent body against Tadashi’s, tucking his head into the crook of Tadashi’s neck. Kei wants to sleep.

Tadashi reaches up and pets Kei’s hair slowly, blonde curls sticking up in a mess of sweat-damp bed-head. “I need to clean you up,” he says softly.

“No,” Kei says, voice tapering off into a whimper as Tadashi pulls from him. He’s so sore and tender, and the motion hurts. He feels himself flush as he cries out, Tadashi’s hands on him and rubbing circles on his back. “Too much,” he explains before Tadashi can even ask. “Too much—really—raw—”

“Let me make sure you’re not bleeding,” Tadashi murmurs, nudging Kei onto his back again.

“It wasn’t _that_ rough,” Kei complains as Tadashi maneuvers him and gently spreads his thighs.

Kei lies on his back, spread open but dozing as Tadashi ties off the filled condom and throws it away. He only nods when Tadashi explains that he’s going to get a warm rag, exhaustion taking over. He stirs faintly as Tadashi runs the rag over his thighs and against his hole, cleaning excess lube away, fingers gentle as he makes sure nothing other than a little swelling was wrong.

The rag moves up his hips to his stomach, Kei squirming at the ticklish feeling of Tadashi cleaning dried cum off of his stomach. The damp warmth and the tenderness behind the motion coax his eyes open and he manages to see the softest expression on Tadashi’s face.

Kei grins up at the other man, “Hi.”

Tadashi blinks at him, then laughs, smiling. “Hi.”

“Are you going to come back for snuggling or… was this a onetime thing?” Kei asks softly. Before, the idea of tenderness made him ache—now he longs for it, sleepy and needing the comfort of Tadashi’s warmth next to him.

“Do you want it to be a onetime thing?” Tadashi asks, putting the rag aside.

“I’d like it to be frequent, but not so frequent that I can’t ever walk,” Kei answers, earning a snicker from Tadashi.

Tadashi reaches out and cups Kei’s face; Kei turns into the motion, nuzzling Tadashi’s palm. “We barely know each other anymore,” Tadashi points out.

Kei shrugs against the sheets. “That’s pretty easy to fix,” he answers. “I still look up dinosaur facts. I drink coffee with four sugars now, instead of six. I play that dumb cat game on my phone.”

Tadashi nods and lies down next to Kei, turning onto his side to nestle into the blond. “I make good pancakes. And I have strawberry jam.”

“That sounds really good,” Kei says sleepily, rolling to face Tadashi as Tadashi pulls the sheets over them.

Kei wraps an arm tightly around Tadashi, pressing his face to Libra on Tadashi’s chest. “I’m so glad I saw you again,” he whispers to Tadashi’s heartbeat, listening to it skip, then settle and slow before he falls asleep, Tadashi’s fingers warm in his hair.


End file.
